


all of you(r glory)

by imagymnasia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byleth is torn between pining and being a strong independent woman who don't need no man, F/M, Female Byleth, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), claude is claude, like immediately post, post S-support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagymnasia/pseuds/imagymnasia
Summary: Byleth could still hear his voice in her mind— her favorite comfort:Nothing will stop me from coming back. There's no way I'm gonna let you go. You know that, don't you?The weight of her new silver band was a testament to that. Byleth stared at it now, the golden-green jewel catching the starlight as she twirled the ring with her thumb. It shone with a cool sort of fire, like moonlight on the eastern sea, but in the sunlight, the emerald glowed as if from within. Sometimes she could swear it was a mischievous light, the same green glint she saw in his eyes when he’d thought of something particularly clever— or idiotic. (Sometimes both.) Maybe that’s why he had chosen it. Or maybe her loneliness made him appear wherever she looked— a shadow in the corner of her eye.Goddess, it had only been a day. She was never going to make it.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83
Collections: The Golden Gifts - Claudeleth Fic/Art Exchange





	all of you(r glory)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BetweenSkyAndSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetweenSkyAndSea/gifts).



> Based loosely on my interpretation of _All of Your Glory_ by BROODS

Byleth stared out over the sleeping monastery, leaning on the wall of Rhea's private garden. It was her garden now, she supposed, as the soon-to-be ruler of Fodlan. The Archbishop had already abandoned the monastery and retired to an unknown location, taking her few belongings with her and telling no one where she had gone. Seteth probably knew— Byleth would put money on it— and Catherine had (coincidentally, of course) disappeared at much the same time. Regardless, the place was hers now, whether she wanted it or not. Already, Byleth missed her old quarters at the dorms, surrounded by her students. But there were no more students, hadn't been for some time now, and she was no longer an instructor. 

But she wasn’t yet the _supreme leader_ , or whatever they were going to call her now. For now, for one more night, she was just Byleth Eisner, daughter of the Blade Breaker, ex-mercenary, former general of the Alliance. And she was drinking alone.

She should have been happy; after all, the war was over, peace was returning to the land, and a new, shining future was just over the horizon. One might have said her wildest dreams had come true, but that would have been a lie. This grand scheme had not been _her_ dream, but another’s; it was one she had been happy to adopt, to believe in and support and see to fruition, but it was not her great aspiration. Her own dream, she knew now, was quite different, and far more selfish. And, right now, it could not be.

Byleth sipped her wine, leaning heavily on the parapet and wishing the drink was something stronger. 

_He should be here._

No doubt he was halfway to Almyra by now, whisked eastbound on bone-white wings as swift as the wind. And she understood— truly, she did. But that did not mean it didn’t upset her. Byleth had spent too long learning to recognize and express her emotions to bottle them up now, even if the temptation to feel absolutely nothing was hard to defy. Sadness felt selfish, even if sadness was a reasonable emotion to feel.

Still, Byleth hated how much it hurt, and how guilty the hurt made her feel.

 _It’s only for a while,_ she reminded herself. Byleth could still hear his voice in her mind— her favorite comfort:

 _Nothing will stop me from coming back. There's no way I'm gonna let you go. You know that, don't you?_

The weight of her new silver band was a testament to that. Byleth stared at it now, the golden-green jewel catching the starlight as she twirled the ring with her thumb. It shone with a cool sort of fire, like moonlight on the eastern sea, but in the sunlight, the emerald glowed as if from within. Sometimes she could swear it was a mischievous light, the same green glint she saw in his eyes when he’d thought of something particularly clever— or idiotic. (Sometimes both.) Maybe that’s why he had chosen it. Or maybe her loneliness made him appear wherever she looked— a shadow in the corner of her eye.

Goddess, it had only been a _day_. She was never going to make it.

No. No, she would be fine. A voice like a memory flitted through the back of her mind like a half-forgotten song. She was better than this, stronger than this; she was a _warrior_. She was practically a _god_. She was the Professor, and she would do what needed to be done, feelings be damned.

But Byleth would let herself feel sadness, in its fullness, just for tonight. No one would begrudge her that, at least.

Lifting the wine to her lips once more, Byleth sighed. It just wasn’t _fair_.

“Bit chilly for a nightcap, isn’t it?” 

Byleth drew the Sword of the Creator and flew into a ready stance in an instant, the fluidity of her motion marred only by the shattering of glass as her wine toppled over the edge and onto the stone below. Her eyes searched the dark for a moment before a shadow, ghostly-pale and glowing in the moonlight, alighted in the courtyard beside her. A white wyvern, she realized, and Byleth relaxed a fraction as a cloaked figure slid to the ground beside it, arms lifted in surrender.

“Easy, Teach. It’s just me.”

“ _Claude._ ” She stayed in her stance, more to make a point than anything. “What are you doing here?”

“Aw c’mon, I thought you’d be happy to see me.” Byleth’s lips pulled into a sharp line. “No? Because I can go—”

With a sigh, she slammed the sword home with more force than necessary. She _was_ happy to see him, but his sudden appearance, while welcome, was suspicious. “Did something happen?” she asked, eyes searching his person for signs of distress. His clothes and hair were windblown ( _artfully tousled_ was a good look on him, damn the man), but he looked otherwise unharmed. 

“No, no,” he answered, finally lowering his hands and joining her at the wall. “Everything’s fine. I just came back for something.”

Up went her eyebrows. “You _forgot_ something?” _Absent-minded_ was not a word anyone would ever use to describe Claude von Riegan. “What?”

Instead of answering, Claude leaned over the parapet and grimaced. “Sorry about your drink. Here.” Reaching beneath his dark traveling cloak, Claude pulled a small flask and handed it to her. Byleth didn’t take it.

“I can always get another.” She joined him, then, one elbow on the wall as she stared at him. He was pointedly avoiding her gaze, his easy smile pulled tight at the edges.

“...Claude,” she said, when he remained silent, “are you sure everything’s alright?”

“Sure,” he laughed, running his hands through his hair. “Everything’s just fine.”

“Then you should get going— grab what you came for and go. Almyra’s waiting.”

She didn’t want him to. She wanted to ask him to stay, just as she had this morning in the delicate glow of dawn. But this was only prolonging the inevitable. Like a superficial wound, Byleth would rather pull out the knife and let the wound heal than leave it to fester.

But Claude would not be persuaded. Instead, he lingered, his gaze falling on the old dormitories. His smile was sad when he asked, “Do they hate me?”

A moment was all she needed to follow his line of thought. “No,” she said, truthfully; then, “Well, Lorenz, perhaps.”

Claude’s smile grew wry. “I thought he might.”

“I don’t think he means it.” Byleth leaned her arms on the wall, pressing their arms together. Claude had never been overly affectionate, but the gesture was enough. He relaxed slightly, then even more so when she added, “I don’t think any of them do. They understand.”

 _I understand,_ she wanted to say. But Claude was laughing, and (although she had gotten much better at reading him in the last few months) Byleth wasn’t sure _why._

“Did I say something funny?”

“No,” he answered; then, “Too damned _good_ , the lot of them.” Claude shook his head. “They should hate me.”

“Why?”

“Because I left them. I built them up, and then I abandoned them.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Sure I did.”

Claude was skilled at hiding his emotions, and Byleth terrible at reading them, but even she couldn’t miss the way his grip tightened on the stone beneath his hands.

“Truth is, Teach, I never wanted to be a leader. Not really. But this dream, it’s bigger than me, and it needs exactly the sort of man I’ve learned how to be. And I’m _good_ at it. But at the same time… Having people rely on me…”

Byleth leaned against him, and Claude let out a heavy sigh, as if her touch had given him permission to breathe again. He turned, shifting his weight to face her. There was a strange light in his eyes; moonlight shimmering on unshed tears.

“Teach— Byleth.” Claude took her hands in his, no longer smiling. “There are things that I need to do— things that must be done, for everyone. Even myself. I can’t even say it’s entirely unselfish, but…” He sighed. “I can’t rest until those things are done— until my dream is realized. And I won’t apologize for that.”

He raised her hand, the one bearing their promise, to his lips.

“But I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. It hurts you, it hurts my friends, it hurts me… Saints, does it hurt. I _know_ I’ve made things difficult, and I know I’ve brought you pain. And that? That I _am_ sorry for.”

Byleth lifted her hand, resting it on his cheek and running her thumb along his jaw. Claude leaned into the touch with a trembling sigh. “I know,” she said, whispered, breathing her acceptance into their shared space.

“I’m so sorry, Byleth,” he whispered back. “I don’t want to go.” The admission hissed from his lips as if some external force had dragged it from his lungs and into the moonlight for all to see.

“I know,” she repeated, stroking his cheek. “I know. And I don’t want you to.”

Her heart ached, both for herself and for him, the longing and loss tearing her open all over again. Yet she found small comfort in knowing that she was not alone in this. That he wanted to stay as much as she; that he was strong enough to say so, and trusted her enough to admit his failings before her.

That he loved her enough to put the world on hold, just for one more precious night in her presence.

“I don’t want to let you go,” she said, “but if you stay, you’ll regret it forever.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, his forehead pressed to hers as if he could draw her into himself. Because he would; it would always feel like a weight around his neck, a journey started but never finished. Claude could never be satisfied with _half_ a perfect world. “I wish you could come with me.”

She laughed, softly, the warmth of it caressing his lips. “Don’t tempt me. I know Zindyra could carry both of us if she needed to.”

Somewhere above them in the dark, a snort answered her. That made Claude laugh in earnest, and he drew back to look at her. His eyes sparkled with starlight and soft sentiment.

“One day,” he said, thumbs drawing little circles beneath her eyes, “I’ll take you with me. I’ll show you everything— the mountains, the people, the food, the festivals— all of it. Together, just you and me. I promise.”

Byleth smiled. “That sounds lovely,” she said, because it did; she wanted to know more about the place he came from, the people who had raised him, the other half of _his_ world, “but if all I have at the end of this is you, Claude, that will be enough.”

Something changed behind his eyes, and for a moment Byleth thought she had said something wrong. But his smile was warm, watery, wavering in the pale light like a mirage.

“I think that’s my line,” he laughed. His forehead met hers once more, a single tear trailing down his cheek. “You are making it _o hard_ to leave, you know that?”

“You’re the one who came back,” she reminded him; but there was no real accusation in it, no sign of the professor, the general, the leader. She was just Byleth, and he was just Claude; just two people, trying and failing to say goodbye. 

“What did you forget, anyway?” He never had answered the question. Truthfully, she didn't expect him to— which was why it took her by surprise when he cupped her face in his hands, his green eyes dark as the midnight sea, and whispered,

“This.”

Claude’s lips pressed to hers, passionate and sweet, demanding nothing from her while pouring himself out like an overfull chalice. She could feel everything he couldn’t voice, everything he wasn’t ready to bear, all the things he felt in his heart of hearts; and she drank it in, pulling him closer, fingers twined in his wind-tangled hair, her pulse thudding against his chest in the absence of a heartbeat. 

_I love you, I love you, I love you,_ his heart sang, and hers answered: _I know. I know._

 _I love you, too._

Claude pulled away first, his chest heaving, eyes still closed, lips drawn into a dazed smile. Byleth leaned against him, tucking her head beneath his chin and listening to his thundering pulse.

“Wow,” he whistled.

Byleth hummed in agreement. She allowed herself another moment to catch her breath before she asked, “You came back just to kiss me?”

“Yep,” he answered, and she could hear the boyish grin in his voice. Claude was still breathless, but some of his good humor was returning. “I couldn’t just leave without kissing you proper, could I? I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”

Byleth smiled against his throat. “You’re crazy if you think I’m finished with you, Claude von Riegan.”

He laughed and pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. The time for them to part was drawing ever closer, but Byleth let herself be enveloped in his arms and put that from her mind. One more moment— that was all she wanted.

“Oh yeah?” he asked. “Is that a fact?”

Byleth smiled. 

“It’s a promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks much for reading! You can find me on twitter at @imagymnasia!


End file.
